Eddies in the Continuum
by Brandon
Summary: Post ep for Dreamland


TITLE: Eddies in the Continuum   
SPOILER WARNING: Dreamland I & II; Small Potatoes   
RATING: PG, for just a bad word or two   
CONTENT WARNING: None   
CLASSIFICATION: VRA, MSR   
SUMMARY: I've never written post-episode fic before, folks, at least partly because I only discovered the fanfic world in September, and they've only been showing new episodes for four weeks or so. So this is a first of sorts. I got to thinking about the fact that some physical objects remained in place at the end of Dreamland I & II, and the rest, as they say, is history....   


Eddies in the Continuum 

by Brandon D. Ray   


Dana Scully sat on her sofa, trying not to stare at the clock. Her fingers played idly with the two oddly fused coins she had found in her desk at work three days before. 

Perhaps tonight he would come. Perhaps it would be tonight. He hadn't come last night, or the night before, but perhaps it would be tonight. 

Perhaps it would be never. 

Suddenly full of nervous energy, she rose from the sofa and walked to her desk with smooth, even strides. She hesitated just a moment, then pulled open the top right hand drawer. The letter was still there, the letter she had found when she unpacked her suitcase after returning from Nevada. With careful, almost reverent fingers she took the letter from the drawer and then slid the drawer shut again. Then she returned to the sofa and sat down again, the letter resting lightly on her fingertips. 

It was a photocopy, of course, not an original. By its very nature it would have to be a photocopy. But it was her own handwriting, and the thoughts expressed were also her own. But she could not remember writing it. 

Of course. 

# # # 

Dear Mulder, 

It is possible, even likely that you will never read this letter. I guess I'm too much of a coward to do this any other way, and for that I beg your forgiveness. 

I am writing this as I sit in the passenger seat of a rental car, while a man who has stolen your body is taking me back to you. Only 30 minutes ago I thought that all was lost, but now I have seen that gas station, magically resurrected after having been destroyed by fire, and hope once again beats within my breast. Hope that once again we might escape by the skin of our teeth. 

If you are reading this letter, you will not remember the events I am referring to; *I* will not remember these events. And that is why I am putting it all down on paper: So that there will be at least some chance that a record will be preserved of what is in my heart. 

I don't have time to put everything in writing, so you will simply have to take my word that these things happened. Funny, isn't it? Dana Scully, your super-rationalist partner and world champion skeptic, is asking you to take this all on faith, without offering any proof or evidence. If it makes you feel any better, realize that I am also asking myself to take it on faith -- the me who does not remember writing these words, anymore than she remembers the events I am describing. 

I don't know how to say this in a credible way, so I will simply be blunt. While we were in Nevada, you were caught up in a warp in the space-time continuum. As a consequence of this, your consciousness switched places with that of a man -- if you can call him a man -- named Morris Fletcher. 

It took me longer than I would have liked to see through this impostor, but at least this time it didn't take the real you breaking down my door to do it. It seems I do learn from experience; just not very well. 

I consulted with the Lone Gunmen on the problem; to my despair, they told me that the odds of reversing the situation, the odds against getting each of you back into your own bodies, were formidable. Too formidable. I could not bear to take such a chance with your life. And so I turned and walked away from you. 

It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. 

But now I have hope again. I have seen evidence that things may be reverting of their own accord. I cannot be sure; I doubt if I will ever be sure. But I have called Langly, and told him what I saw, and he is running some computer simulations, while I am simply praying. I know that you do not share my faith, but it is all I know how to do at this point. 

My cell phone is ringing; I'll be back in a minute. 

That was Langly. He confirmed my guess -- his simulations do show that things may be returning to normal. In order for it to work I have to get both you and the son of a bitch driving this car back to the place where you were when the original anomaly occurred. I don't have much time, and if we aren't there when the disturbance passed by on its return journey, we will never get another chance. But I am determined; if I never do anything else right in my life, I will do this right. As God is my witness. 

There is another thing which Langly told me, something which fills me with dread, and which is the ultimate reason I am writing this letter. It seems that there is a chance -- not a large chance, but a chance -- that when the disturbance passes by you and Fletcher will simply cease to exist. You will never have existed at all, and I will have no memory of ever having known you. And Langly says this is equally likely whether you are present when it passes by or not. 

I can't stand the thought of that; it is unbearable. I can cope with the idea of our physical deaths, because I truly have faith that we will be together in the afterlife. This is selfish of me, I know, since you do not share this faith, but it is what sustains me whenever we head into danger. But the idea that you might simply cease to be, and never have been -- and that I will not only never see you again, but will never HAVE seen you -- this thought makes my heart ache beyond endurance. 

And so I am writing this letter. I would never have the courage to tell you this to your face, and that is why I have remained silent for so long. And it would do no good to tell the you who may vanish without a trace within the next few hours, even if I could find the strength to do so. But Langly has also told me, when I first called him about this, that there is a possibility that there will be eddies in the continuum that will allow some physical objects to survive the anomaly, if they are not directly in its path. It is not a certainty, but is a possibility, and it is on this possibility that I am now pinning all my hopes. 

Because just as I cannot stand the idea that you may cease to be, I also cannot stand the thought that I may not remember what I am feeling at this moment -- the sense of desolation and loss as I contemplate never having had you in my life and that, worse, I will not even know that I miss you. These are the feelings that are driving me, finally, to reach out to you, and tell you that I love you. 

There. I've finally said it. And there is so much more I want to say, but there is no more time. In a few minutes we will be arriving at Fletcher's home, and then we will have to move quickly if there is to be any hope at all. And so this letter is drawing to a close. 

I see a postal substation up ahead, and I will make Fletcher stop so that I can make a copy for myself and mail the original to your address in Alexandria. If I know myself at all (and I like to think I do), she will not believe the facts I have just recited, and she certainly will not remember how I am feeling at this moment. She will continue her life as it was, and she will never find the courage to express her love to you. 

If you are reading this, then we have succeeded. Come to me, Mulder; hurry! Love me and let me love you, and forgive me for not having the strength or the faith to take the first step for myself. 

You are my one in five billion.   
  


Scully 

# # # 

Scully was drawn from her fugue by a knock on the door. She closed her eyes in prayer for just a moment, then rose from the sofa, and on shaky, unsteady legs, she moved to the door and pulled it open. 

Mulder was there, and in his hand he held a piece of paper, and on his face he wore a smile. And he opened his arms to her, and she moved into his embrace and cried.   
  


Fini 


End file.
